


Winners' Drive

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Series: Oh my god, they were checkmates... [2]
Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Flirting, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Intoxication, OR IS IT??, Road Trips, Sexual Tension, Unrequited Lust, takes place between ep. 5: Fork and ep. 6: Adjournment, whoopsie I wrote another one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: "Oh, and about sex... Forget it." - Benny Watts,The Queen's GambitBeth quickly agrees to Benny's terms and he decides to remain at the bar. In all the drunken lecturing that follows, he makes one comment that stands out. It's still in Beth's head the next day as they drive from Ohio to New York.
Relationships: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts
Series: Oh my god, they were checkmates... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020483
Comments: 25
Kudos: 331





	Winners' Drive

**Author's Note:**

> _Baby, you can drive my car/And maybe I'll love you_ \- The Beatles

“Consider it forgotten,” Beth pipes up, light and quick.

Benny, in the process of rising from his stool, turns back with an expression of disbelief. His eyes narrow.

“You said you like my hair.”

“And I’ll never give you a compliment again if it’s going to scare you off like that. I think you’ll take it pretty hard though, not being flattered during all the matches we’re going to play when we get to New York.”

“Words,” he says, wagging a ringed finger at her as he retakes his seat. “ _Words_ would’ve been a compliment. You touched me.”

She rolls her eyes flippantly.

“Please. We’ve shaken hands, you have a habit of grabbing my shoulder,” Beth rattles off. “We touch all the time.”

He inhales through his nose, directing his incredulous look at the beer bottle still resting in front of him.

“Not like that.”

“You make it sound inappropriate.”

“It was, though I guess you didn’t understand that until I explicitly told you to forget about sex.”

She flips her hand in a vague gesture. Perhaps her pale inner wrist is a show of vulnerability when he normally only sees the back of her wrist, during play.

“I’ve had a lot to drink,” she says.

Benny looks up and over at her with a knowing smile.

“I’ve had the same and somehow, I don’t think you’re compromised in the slightest.”

Beth just smiles and raises her beer to her lips, holding his gaze as she swallows. With a sigh, he swipes his own bottle from the bar and joins her.

“Benny,” she says wryly, “is that wise?”

“Long drive tomorrow. Might as well be hungover for it. That’ll give me something to think about.”

She snorts.

“You could always talk to me.”

That seems to remind him of the arrangement they’ve lately made, whereby she sleeps on his couch by night and receives tutelage from him by day. Though she’s just beaten him, he has the audacity to pull _her_ side of their match apart, belatedly coaching her through all the other moves she could’ve made at various points, as though he’s forgotten that she saw all of those variations in her mind throughout. It’s infuriating. His inclination to patronize her until she pushes back makes her wonder how they’re going to survive until Paris. The insistent, instructive tone also makes her want to laugh. There are probably people, probably lots of people, with whom Beth would have an easier time getting along. But there’s nobody she’d rather get along with than Benny.

At the bottom of the bottle, he signals for another and switches from recent to distant past, schooling her on historic matches (she’s already intimately familiar with all but one of his examples). He leaps from one to the next, referring to a handful, a dozen, in the same sentence, never waiting for her or checking that she’s keeping up. She is. She hasn’t lifted her drink since the last time, too fixated on watching Benny talk chess, which is possibly even more engaging than watching him play. Quite a feat. When he speaks—which is in a constant stream—he seems to be voicing her thoughts as they happen. He was right, in the cafeteria last night. They’re totally aligned. They see things the same way. If Beth could hold a conversation with herself, it would be exactly this. Subtracting the odd condescending look he shoots her way when she argues with him.

Eventually, softened by the tolerable amount of alcohol and the lateness of the hour, she props her cheek in her hand and teases him for his proclivity for impromptu lecturing. Benny holds himself together well, but his eyes are glassy from the beer and the impassioned chess sermon, his smile wavering woozily. He stares at her for a solid minute with his dark eyes and she (wrongly) assumes he’s searching his soused brain for a snappy comeback.

“I like your hair too,” he says.

Trying not to let the thrill of the implication show on her face, Beth unhurriedly crosses her legs, smooths her skirt, and stretches her foot towards him until she can run the side of it up his shin. A strange expression comes over his features. He reaches out, aiming for her hair, or maybe her cheek, but struggling to gauge precisely how far away she’s sitting. Smiling, she sighs and briefly clasps his hand in hers, only long enough to lower it and give it a consoling pat.

“Come on, Benny. You’ve had enough.”

* * *

“Where am I?” he asks groggily from the backseat. Then, scrambling up (she knows because he grabs at her seat and it tugs her blouse), he repeats the question.

“In the car,” Beth answers, smiling to herself and keeping her eyes forward.

“And where is the car, Beth?”

“On the road,” she replies in Russian.

He waves her off with clear irritation as he twists and heaves to climb from the backseat to the front. Thumping down into the passenger seat, he glares at her. She catches it in the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “it sounded like a question from one of my lessons. You could try to occasionally sound less pedagogical.”

“It’s too early for that shit.”

“Too early for preparing for my future as a chess player? That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“Oh, and _I’m_ patronizing?” He groans, so she doesn’t respond. “I feel like death. How’d I get in the car?”

“You walked. I helped a little.”

He huffs through his nose.

“Well,” Beth argues against that doubtful noise, “you said last night that you wanted to leave for New York in the afternoon. I prefer travelling early, and _you_ certainly weren’t in any shape to drive.”

“For all I remember, I never proposed any plan to bring you there and this is a kidnapping.”

“Yes, I’m going to hold the great Benny Watts for ransom. You’ve found me out.”

“The cheerful sarcasm is giving me a headache.”

“That would be your hangover at work.”

At last, he laughs. She glances over to see him stretching his legs as far forward as he can in this cute little car. She shouldn’t say anything. Not a word. But.

“You said you liked my hair too.”

The road’s empty, so Beth chances a longer look at Benny when he doesn’t respond. He clears his throat and delivers his excuse.

“I had a lot to drink. Too much.”

“You did,” she agrees.

His gaze wanders over to hers and she snaps her eyes straight ahead. She can feel him about to say something; it unnerves her and she adjusts her grip on the wheel. He isn’t ready to admit his attraction to her while sober, he’s already proven that, but she isn’t an overly patient person. She goes out and does things for herself, including opening up the opportunity for Benny to possibly say that his bullshit no-sex rule was only voiced because he’s as afraid as she is. Afraid to want and need. Beth holds her chin high, knowing he’s not about to do anything more to end her loneliness than give up his couch and drill her on chess maneuvers. Maybe she’ll forget that they ever came close.

The rising sun is in her eyes. She squints into the defiant burn on the horizon as she continues to steer them east.

“Can I ask you something?”

She nods.

“Why the hell are you wearing my hat?”

Beth laughs and lifts a hand to touch the brim.

“I like it,” she says. “What do you have to say to that?”


End file.
